Page 15 of The Brat: Prequel

Aghast, I sputter, “NO! OMG. Never! Brennan would never hurt me. Ever. I can’t believe you’d think that⁠—”

He doesn’t let me get Eoghan’s name out before he’s snarling, “Then, who?”

“A boy in my class.”

“He’s one of us?”

“Yes. That’s why I didn’t go to Brennan. He wouldn’t... couldn’t... Not without starting⁠—”

“Who?” he bites off.

“His name’s Timofai Stepanov,” I manage to wheeze.

“No one will ever call you a whore or touch you against your will, Victoria, not while I’m alive.”

The reassurance is immediate. And it’s like a weight’s lifted off my shoulders. My eyes close as I press my back tighter against the bathroom wall. From my position on the floor beside the toilet, the cool tiles have helped stave off the urge to vomit since I got home. For the first time, I think I could move.

Still, relief aside… “He’s only sixteen, Maxim. You can’t cut off his head too.”

“Watch me.”

“No! He’s just a boy. H-He’s no one.” Anxious that he’ll get caught doing something dumb that could cause a rebellion in the ranks, I’m quick to assert, “It was stupid. I should never have called you.”

“You should have called me. This is the only reason we should be talking, Victoria. I know you’re curious about me, katyonok, but you’re too young to speak with me unless it’s about something important like this.”

“I like your voice.”

I have no idea why I make the admission. But I do. And it’s the truth. Unless he sounds stern. Like how Father used to sound. Then I want to freeze up.

“My voice?”

“Mama was from Moskva. You have the same accent.”

He’s silent long enough that I know I disconcerted him. “I’ll deal with the boy, Victoria.”

My time in the O’Donnelly family has allowed me to learn a lot more than they’d be comfortable with. I snooped around Father, but there were always consequences. Here, disappointed looks don’t exactly corral me…

That means I know what ‘deal with’ means.

“Please, don’t kill him.”

I can tell my defense of that dumbass irritates him when he growls, “Which hand did he use to touch you?”

But I’m not defending Stepanov. I’m protecting him. God, he’s already having to reign over a faction that’s divided.

“It was just a little touch.”

“So little,” he mocks, “that you decided to call your personal boogeyman in to make it right? You knew what would happen when you called me, Victoria. Which hand?”

And there’s the rub. He’s 100% correct. I knew what I was invoking when I called him. It’s why I put this off as long as I could.

I jump when I hear the sound of glass shattering and yelp. “The left one. What was that noise?”

“Nothing. Ignore it. The left one. Your breast, nowhere else?”

I pause, unsure if I should unravel the half-truth I told him.

“Victoria,” he soothes. “Tell me, katyonok.“